Bob Hope

Over the course of a career that spanned more than 60 years, actor-comedian- humanitarian-noted golf enthusiast, Bob Hope came to be regarded as not only a legendary entertainer, but a veritable Ameri...
Read More...

We all have daddy issues, right? That's what makes us love The Real Transitional Objects of Tantrum City. Watching this show (obsessing about this show) is all of us just acting out and trying to get attention by hanging around with a bunch of other women who are just trying to get their father's attention, or just trying to get over the time their father beat them by abusing others, or, I don't know, trying to ignore the fact that their father is a disgusting perv who wants to have sex with them or at least a version of them that is both younger and black. That is not the case with my father, because he likes old Asian ladies.
Yes, last night on The Electra Complex only two things happened and they both really had to do with daddies. (Well, three things happened if you count Heather Thompson planning a liver transplant fundraiser, and that is only notable because in the background was third season second string Housewife Jennifer Gilbert and her asymmetrical bob lurking around like a burnt out Christmas light. How weird was that?) Of these two things that happened, only one of them really interested me, and we will get to that second. First off we have to talk about ¡Que Viva! and her new mortal enemy Ramona Singer.
¡Que Viva! invited Ramona to a very bright and airy restaurant that I swear is the same place that Carrie Bradshaw drunkenly fell down the stairs drunk on cosmos after she found out Mr. Big was dating someone that wasn't her. QV called this little meeting because ¡Que Viva! heard from her ex Harry Dubin (a ghost that has haunted these proceedings like the title character does in Rebecca) that Ramona called him up and was asking him all sorts of inappropriate questions about her. We never got to find out exactly what those are, because Ramona slank into her chair like the seat was on fire and refused to take of her sunglasses. Maybe it was to keep the Carrie Bradshaw visions out of her head. But Ramona was on the attack and before they could even start a dignified conversation, she started attacking ¡Que Viva!, and man what a fight this was.
Let me just clear this up – no side is right in this fight. This is like an argument between those awful shoes where each toe has its own little home and a Croc. There is no choosing sides. It's like a child porn advocate having a debate with Hitler. You can't pick a winner without Satan rising up through the floorboards on a bit of steam and yanking your soul out of your body with a severe tug.
Here are their points: Ramona thinks that ¡Que Viva! is no fun, has a stick up her ass, and is crazy. All legit. She also thinks that she has panic disorder not because of small planes or heights, but because she can't leave her husband. Ramona makes that last point as if it is some sort of severe indictment. Who cares what makes this scaredy cat listen to Chaka Khan? She's still quaking in her boot for whatever reason. Is ¡Que Viva! less of a person for having to be around her husband? I don't think so. Ramona also is trying to rewrite history and say that she was joking about Taco leaving St. Barts. We all know that is factually incorrect.
¡Que Viva! thinks that Ramona parties too much and that it is undignified for a 56-year-old Christian jewelry designer to dance on tables in nightclubs. She has a point, but so what? Old people can't have fun? She also thinks that Ramona is a drunk who enables Sonja. Fair Point. ¡Que Viva! thinks Ramona lacks class (true), is a coward who walks away from an argument (true), and that she should probably shut up now and again and listen to others (true true triggity true). Then ¡Que Viva! goes on to accuse Ramona of cheating on her husband, which is a seriously low blow. That's just totally uncalled for, even if Ramona is accusing ¡Que Viva! of being too dedicated to her husband.
However none of that was the best part of their exchange. Ramona says that the reason Sonja drinks so much is because she's "lost everything," and ¡Que Viva! counters, "Like what...a leg?" OK, ¡Que Viva!, you can't be all, "Just ignore my leg, I'm just a normal person" and then try to trot that out every time you need some sympathy. But then Ramona says, "You have a very comfortable life. There are plenty of people who would trade a part of their body to live your life." Wait, what? That has to be the singularly most ridiculous thing that a Real Housewife has ever said on television, and we have suffered through 2400 seasons of Vicki Gunvalson as the matriarch of the Real Sundried Tomatoes of the California Pizza Kitchen. That is just bonkers. Ramona just said that there are people who would actually cut off a limb so that they could be rich like ¡Que Viva!. That is what she said. She said that and she meant it, that is what is crazy about it. Ramona apparently believes that when you say you paid an "arm and a leg" for something, that is an actual price. There is an actual dollar amount attached to flesh and bone, ligament and gristle. We know Housewives routinely pay for their body parts, but this was just nuts. Here is a Viking ship full of head shakes and eye rolls for Ramona.
Later in the episode, it was ¡Que Viva! who looked like an evil mastermind. Ramona was throwing a penthouse fashion party, because, apparently, that is what these women do to stop other women from being abused. If you wanted to stop female abuse, how about convincing reality TV to stop existing? Anyway, this is a thing. Everyone was there and ¡Que Viva! decided that she couldn't go, not because Ramona just left her slack jawed in Carrie Stumbled Here RestoLounge, but because she couldn't handle going into an elevator to go up 90 floors. Steam just came out of my head and my eyes bulged out of my skull like one of those Tex Avery wolves and OOOOAOOOOAOAOAHGAGAGGGAAAHHHHH went every noise in the universe.
Anyway, ¡Que Viva! sent her father Jorge to the party with a check. First of all, Jorge looks like an orange rind that has been fashioned into a scrotum and given a pair of glasses. He is completely ridiculous in word, deed, and appearance, and he had no business whatsoever being at this party. That ¡Que Viva! would send him there to do her dirty work is just despicable. This is the kind of thing that would happen on Melrose Place and you'd be like "Come on, that is so fake." I mean, a bitch could rip off her wig and reveal a scar and stash a bomb in the laundry room and you'd buy it, but sending your 80-year-old father to get Ramona Viperness Singer to apologize, now that is just crazy.
Jorge confronts Ramona and has a good point that she shouldn't make fun of ¡Que Viva! panic disorder, but Ramona will not apologize, she is waiting for ¡Que Viva! to apologize.This is how Housewives feuds are made. They are not built on rational behavior or real incidents of being wronged, they are built on silly points of order by two sides that are both about as wrong as wearing your jeans in the ocean. No one is ever going to apologize or see that the other side is right. This was the death of Jill Zarin and a million other Housewives. It was almost the death of that one blonde bitch and that other blonde bitch from OC, but they figured out they should make up before they got fired too. While we love a fight, we hate when people just fight for no reason over ridiculous crap.
Jorge keeps pressing Ramona to apologize and she gets flustered and made that he only sees ¡Que Viva!'s side of the story. Of course he does! She's his daughter? Whose side is he supposed to be on? Anyway, Jorge refuses to leave even after Carole and Holla!, I mean Heather, tell him that he should go. Ever the level heads these two. I still can't believe their Housewives. Jorge is escorted out by security and the whole thing ends with embarrassment. At least Jorge only asked one of the ladies out an an inappropriate moment. Thank god for all our daddy issues.
Next: Guys, I'm really worried about Sonja Tremont Morgan, of the Scotts Bluff Morgans. She's having a really rough time right now. She was getting all prepared for her settlement meeting with her ex-husband John (J. Pierpont) Morgan. She put on the green thong that he always liked so much (it still fit, but just barely) and a conservative skirt suit with a blouse that showed just enough cleavage (or decolletage, as Sonja calls it) to get her some attention. Oh, and a hat. Sonja really loves a good hat. Remember when people used to wear hats? Sonja does, and she thought things were so much better back then.
Sonja was ready for her meeting, the first time that she would see her ex in years. In the cab on the way over, she thought about what was going to happen. They would meet in one of those conference rooms high up in a Midtown office tower with a huge wooden table in the center glistening in the Manhattan sun and interrupted in the center only by one of those multi-legged phone systems that looks sort of like a crab (the lice kind, not the open with a mallet kind). They would sit at opposite sides facing each other with their lawyers at each others side and he would say, "Sonja, you're looking well. How was your weekend?" And she would tell him and bring up some shared joke of theirs and talk about their friends and their daughters and she would make him laugh, she could always make him laugh. And then his lawyer would give her a settlement to sign and she would get money and houses and millions and everything she could ask for, everything he promised her. Then he would take his check book out of the inside of his blazer (navy blue with bone buttons) with a golden fountain pen and snap off the cap and just write her a check, signing it with a flourish. He would pull out her chair for her, open the door for her, and then walk her to the elevator with his arm in the crook of her elbow talking about when he would see her next and making some plans. His assistant will call her intern and put it in the iCal for real. Their daughter could join them. It would be like old times.
That is what Sonja imagined. But when the elevator door dinged on the 82nd floor the receptionist saw her and her hat framed perfectly by the opening door, holding her purse like a leather discus she was about to hurl for a world record but still tucked under her arm. "Hello, I'm Sonja Morgan. I'm here to see my husband John?" The receptionist typed something into her computer (it's so sophisticated how they do things electronically these days) and asked Sonja to have a seat. She leafed through a copy of Architectural Digest not even looking at the pictures, but being comforted by the smooth of the pages, the rip, rip, rip as she turned them quickly. Then, finally, a man wearing a striped tie without a jacket approached her. "Hello, Sonja. I'm Steven Miller, your husband's attorney, if you would follow me."
She walked down a hallway with her head up, shoulders back, past dozens of people in cubicles, their heads bent down in work. He opened a door to a small office and asked her to sit down. It was empty, though there was a window looking out to the street. She took a seat, but there was only one chair. "Where's John?" she asked. "He's not coming. Someone will be in to see you shortly, I'll have your lawyer join you when he arrives," he answered. And her lawyer did arrive and joined her in the small office, leaning against the wall while they waited, his briefcase wrapped in the papoose of his arms.
Steven Miller returned, still without a jacket and sat behind the desk, which was so uncluttered it looked like it was usually empty, and he pushed across some terms of a settlement, none of which Sonja was ready to agree to. "Come on," her attorney said to her, grabbing at her elbow as she flinched slightly. "We're leaving."
"But where's John?" Sonja asked. "I'm sure if I just talked to him, I could explain. I could remind him that. We can fix this. We don't have to walk away." "No," her attorney said. "He's not coming. It's over. Let's go. I can't believe they called us in here for this."
When she got home, the interns were waiting, one holding a bottle of champagne behind his back and the other one with party hats to pass out. But when Sonja got to the top of the stairs and was still wiping the undersides of their eyes, they quickly stashed them in the closet. The celebration will have to wait.
"It's over," Sonja said. "I don't even know why I left the house. I thought he was going to be there. I thought he would be there and we would laugh and talk, but he wasn't. He wasn't there and it's over. And all my friends, all my friends they just worry about where they're going on vacation and what dress they're going to wear to the gala, and I'm worried about keeping my house. I'm worried about my debt. I'm up at night, rolling around in the bed wondering how I'm going to pay this. I never should have gone to St. Barts, it just reminded me how I used to live, how good things used to be. And I'm going to have to sell my house. I at least have to sell the house in France, but if my husband won't give me what we need, what I need and what his daughter needs, if he wants to kick her out of her childhood home, then good. Then that's what I'm going to do. I'm going to solve this on my own. I've always been Sonja. I've always owned my house. Before I married him, I had my own apartment and I had a house in Beverly Hills...well, in Hollywood at least, and I'm going to have it again. I don't need him. I don't need him. It's over." That was it.
Sonja washed that man right out of her hair. It was funny to see this Sonja. Usually we get the boob-headed party girl who lurches around with her tits forward with a cocktail, a joke, and a flirty remark all in hand and just banging whoever she runs into. That is the Sonja she wants you to see. The fun Sonja. But this was the other side of the coin, the inside of the Popple once it has come out of its shell, and it is hard and fierce and doesn't mess with anyone. This is Sonja showing her real emotion, her streaked mascara, her hurt feelings, her blotchy chest that is rashy with rage. This is a whole new Sonja.
She got on the phone and called the Countess of Crackerjacks for support. She was going to do the only thing she could think of to get that man out of her house: she was going to put his portrait in storage. They had them done when they were first married, John, hunching over in his chair, posing with his arm over the side, looking slack and stiff at the same time. Sonja, of course, was askew in her seat, about to pop off it with energy and trying not to sit on a white dog. These portraits, done in dark oils but the British Royal Portrait Artist, flanked the fireplace in her dining room, standing like sentinels, separate but together.
Robin Pocker, who had been through this sort of thing before with many divorced couples, came over and told her it would be OK. That the process is easy, "We just have to, you know, take it off the wall, cover it with a cloth, and then throw it in the back of the van. It will be in a storage space, so call us if you ever want it. Or call us if you never want it. Otherwise, it will just sit there as long as you keep paying the bill."
The two Latinos came in and took it down, disconnected the light, and shuffled it down the stairs, as Sonja held onto Crackerjack's hand and slouched her head on CJ's shoulder as the rest of her body went tense, like she was about to get her eyebrows waxed. When they were all gone, she just melted into the table, she poured herself into the seat and oozed her head down onto the hard surface, smelling the lemony flecks of Pledge that the long-fired maid used to polish the surface once a month. CJ patted her head for awhile, stroking her hair, and feeding her encouragement, but it got late, and Sonja got quiet and finally Crackerjacks said, "Son, I'm gonna leave. Call if you need anything. I really mean that."
And when the front door closed, Sonja closed her eyes and fell into a deep sleep. She woke up hours later, how late, she didn't know, but the sun had gone down and she was sitting in the gloomy dining room, her head still on the table and drool pooling under her cheek. She sat up, ran her sleeve across her mouth and touched her eyes a little, blinking at the dryness that comes after crying. She looked up and the room looked foreign with that big vastness on the wall. She could still tell that the wallpaper was a different color where the painting used to be, even in the darkness. But it was the empty that really got her. She couldn't stop looking at it, like a tongue probing where a tooth was pulled, feeling around in the gum, opening up the socket, trying to realize that one day that will feel normal and it won't even be gone anymore.
She got up from the chair and though she would head to bed, until she passed her portrait. Oh, what a different Sonja she was then. Who was this girl, so full of hope, so mighty in her connection to a rich man, her pooch propped up and probing his head out from the wood of the chair's arm. That was so long ago, where there were yachts and royals and business and everything ahead of her. When she gave her love to a man and he gave her everything else in return. When she gave him the promise of a daughter if he gave her the promise of safety, stability. That is all Sonja ever wanted, something that wouldn't change, a bedrock she could dance on. He gave it to her, but how stupid was that Sonja to think it would last forever. How stupid.
"Stupid!" she yelled out loud, reaching out and swatting at the painting. "Stupid!" she yelled again. "Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!" she said, this time with fists hitting it, knocking it off kilter on the wall. "So Stupid! Sonja," she said hoisting it off the wall. "How could you be so stupid," as she put her knee through the back of the canvas, ripping it. Then she started flailing about with the frame, hitting it against the table and chairs, pounding it on the carpet, and then finally fracturing it on the mantle. But she kept flailing, breaking it little by little, and now when she threw her arms up, little pieces tore off and flew around the room, the whole thing a winging mass, like a bird caught on a tether, trying to escape. "Stupid!" she yelled one last time as she threw the thing into a heap on the ground and collapsed on top of it as her huddled body convulsed with a sob.
Yes, she still had some tears left, but not many, and the splinters of the frame were jutting into her. She got up and wiped the heels of her hands into her eyes, for the last time today, she swore to herself, and she left the pile right there on the floor. Someone would clean it up later. Her or the interns or maybe the maid, if she could eventually hire her back. Someone. Someone would get rid of it. She walked up to her room, but instead of getting in the bed, she went digging through the duvet for her phone. She picked it up and dialed a number.
"Hey, Ramona, it's Son" she said. "No, no, no. I'm alright. No, really I am. Hey, Ramona. You wanna go out somewhere?"

For making such an astute decision to revive Arrested Development for a much-desired fourth season, Netflix has hired one inept lawyer. The Hollywood Reporter has confirmed that Henry Winkler, who played Bluth family attorney Barry Zuckerkorn, will appear in “multiple episodes” of the series.
Winkler’s addition is adding to the Arrested fandom frenzy that began earlier this summer when pictures from the set found their way onto the Internet. The actor tweeted Friday, “I AM SUPPOSED TO BE MEMORIZING an ARRESTED DEVELOPMENT scene with MAYBE for today … don’t tell anyone I was here OK?????”
But the tweet-happy Winkler also revealed another lawyer back in the Bluths’ life — Scott Baio, who played Zuckerkorn’s replacement, Bob Loblaw (owner of Bob Loblaw’s Law Blog), is also appearing on the series, which will premiere this spring.
New faces, however, are poised to join Season 4, including John Slattery , who’s role has not yet been released. Still, though Netflix has confirmed the entire cast will return for its revival, we’re still waiting for word on whether we can expect to see Franklin and Ann. Yes, her?
[Image Credit: FOX]
More:
It’s Arrested Development: A Gallery of Set Photos from the New Season
Arrested Development: 20 Running Jokes We Hope Keep Running
Tony Hale Talks Arrested Development, Veep, and His Pop Culture Dreams

The veteran star, who is credited with paving the way for female comediennes, passed away in her sleep at her Los Angeles home on Monday (20Aug12), months after falling and injuring her wrist and hip, reports TMZ.com.
Born in Ohio, Diller enjoyed a career spanning five decades, breaking into radio and TV in 1952.
She began performing stand-up and co-starred with U.S. TV legend Bob Hope in a variety of TV specials and films such as Boy, Did I Get a Wrong Number! and The Private Navy of Sgt. O'Farrell.
Known for her witty wisecracks and her unusual, signature laugh, Diller made regular appearances on popular comedy show Rowan and Martin's Laugh-In and carved out a movie career for herself with roles in 1961's Splendor in the Grass and 1967 Mad Monster Party.
She also landed her own variety show, The Beautiful Phyllis Diller Show in 1968, and went on to voice the character of the Queen in A Bug's Life and Peter Griffin's mother, Thelma, in a 2006 episode of Family Guy.
She also starred on Broadway in a 1969 production of the musical Hello, Dolly!.

Comedienne and actress Phyllis Diller died today, August 20, at the age of 95 in her home in Los Angeles, California. TMZ reports that Diller had recently suffered an injury to the hip and wrist and had been in hospice care at her home.
Diller is often cited as a pioneer of comedy, helping establish women in Hollywood as legitimate stand-up talent. The comedienne got her start in radio in the '50s, before leveraging the appearances into television spots and a full touring career. During the '60s, Diller starred alongside Bob Hope in 23 television specials and three films. The partnership helped Diller earn a spot on Hope's USO tour during the Vietnam War — a hot ticket for any comic, male or female. In 1966 she starred in The Phyllis Diller Show, and while the show only lasted 30 episodes, Diller continued to draw audiences with numerous TV and movie guest star roles.
Diller's stand-up career never slowed down. Later in life, she continued cracking jokes and lending her voice to a number of animated films (the younger crowd may remember her as the Queen in Pixar's A Bug's Life). As a testament to her impact on the world of comedy, Diller was a regular guest on a handful of talk shows and specials, including Make 'Em Laugh: The Funny Business of America, which noted her as one of the most important figures in the history of the stand-up art.
[Photo Credit: WENN.com]
More:
Remembering Phyllis Diller: 5 Classic TV Clips

Some would say that hipsters and Republicans make unlikely bedfellows — and indie band The Silversun Pickups would agree. When they heard that their 2009 hit "Panic Switch" was played at a campaign event for Mitt Romney, they were, um, not so happy. The band's attorney issued a cease and desist letter to the Romney campaign on Wednesday, the Associated Press reports.
"We don't like people going behind our backs, using our music without asking, and we don't like the Romney campaign," lead singer Brian Aubert said in a statement to the AP. "We're nice, approachable people. We won't bite. Unless you're Mitt Romney!" Zing!
But here's the kicker. Aubert continues, "We were very close to just letting this go because the irony was too good. While he is inadvertently playing a song that describes his whole campaign, we doubt that 'Panic Switch' really sends the message he intends." Double zing!
For the record, Romney's camp told the AP they didn't mean to play the song, and, per The Silversun Pickups' request, will not play it again. Romney spokeswoman Andrea Saul wrote in an email to the AP, "As anyone who attends Gov. Romney's events knows, this is not a song we would have played intentionally. That said, it was covered under the campaign's regular blanket license, but we will not play it again."
Such a kerfuffle, which pits artist against politician, is not new. Politicians have been inappropriately appropriating music for generations. It all started with The Boss.
1984: Bruce Springsteen vs. Ronald Reagan
During his 1984 bid for reelection, Ronald Reagan attempted to make Bruce Springsteen's anti-Vietnam War anthem "Born in the U.S.A." his theme song. Reagan, who clearly missed the point of Springsteen's song, said in a speech on the campaign trail in Hammonton, N.J., "America's future rests in a thousand dreams inside your hearts; it rests in the message of hope in songs so many young Americans admire: New Jersey's own Bruce Springsteen. And helping you make those dreams come true is what this job of mine is all about." Springsteen, who did not endorse Reagan, wasn't amused.
1996: Sam &amp; Dave vs. Bob Dole
When Bob Dole decided to run against an incumbent Bill Clinton in a race for the presidency, he knew he had to have a killer theme song. His pick: Sam &amp; Dave's 1967 hit, "Soul Man." Sam Moore was on board, and rewrote the song as "I'm a Dole Man." The song's publishers, however, refused to let Dole use the song at his voter rallies.
2000: Sting vs. George W. Bush
In 2000, Bush wanted to use Sting's tune "Brand New Day" as his campaign anthem. Sting, a democrat, declined. The plot thickened, however, when Sting agreed to allow Al Gore, Bush's opponent, use of the song.
2008: The Foo Fighters, Jackson Browne, John Mellencamp vs. John McCain
Let's just say, John McCain had a hard time getting permission to play any music at all while on the campaign trail. The Foo Fighters denied McCain access to "My Hero," John Mellencamp quietly asked McCain to stop playing "Our Country" and "Pink Houses," and Jackson Browne sued for McCain's use of "Running on Empty." Browne, who was outraged that his song was used without his permission by the Ohio Republican Party to denigrate Barack Obama in a pro-McCain ad, actually filed a lawsuit.
2008: Sam Moore vs. Barack Obama
Lest we lead you to believe that this is a problem only Republicans face, here's an example from our very own POTUS, Barry Obama. In 2008, Obama used Sam &amp; Dave's song "Soul Man" (not be be confused with "Dole Man") at his rallies. Sam Moore issued Obama a cease and desist letter.
2008: Heart vs. Sarah Palin
Referencing her high school nickname, Palin chose Heart's "Barracuda" to welcome her onstage at the Republican National Convention. Heart was outraged. "Sarah Palin's views and values in NO WAY represent us as American women," they said in a statement. "We ask that our song 'Barracuda' no longer be used to promote her image. The song 'Barracuda' was written in the late Seventies as a scathing rant against the soulless, corporate nature of the music business, particularly for women. (The 'barracuda' represented the business.) While Heart did not and would not authorize the use of their song at the RNC, there's irony in Republican strategists' choice to make use of it there." Again with the irony!
2011: Tom Petty vs. Michele Bachmann
In her short-lived (but spirited) bid for the presidency in 2011, Michele Bachmann decided to play Tom Petty's "American Girl" while she walked onstage at a rally. Far from being flattered that Bachmann chose his song, Petty issued a cease and desist.
Follow Abbey Stone on Twitter @abbeystone
[Photo Credit: Autumn de Wilde; WENN]
More:
Mitt Romney is 'Considering' Appearing on 'SNL'
Clint Eastwood: 'America needs Mitt Romney for President'
Rush Limbaugh's 'Dark Knight Rises'/Mitt Romney Conspiracy Theory

The new fall pilots haven't even premiered yet, but already the networks are looking forward to their next big task: finding the right pilots and scripts to order for the 2013-2014 season. Development season is well underway and has been for the past few weeks — although this season is marked by a declaration from some networks (namely ABC and NBC) that the typically order-happy suits would not be as quick to bulk up their pilot orders this year. In other words, less is more.
Most of the majors have already made their first-round choices for specific projects, and the trends that have emerged seem to be all about big-name attachments (e.g. Vince Vaughn, Jodie Foster, Ryan Reynolds), period dramas (e.g. Aztec empire, Cold War America, 1890s Europe), international transplants (from Israel, England and Scandinavia) and — in an interestingly-revived yet well-worn trend — book adaptations (including Dracula and two Sleepy Hollow reboots).
Here's what ABC, CBS, The CW, FOX, NBC and more have coming down the '13-'14 pipeline so far:
ABC
— Dumb F*ck: Single-camera comedy about an average Joe and his brilliant wife who move in with her intelligent yet emotionally stunted family of geniuses; written by Hank Nelken (Saving Silverman), executive produced by Vin Di Bona, Bruce Gersh, Susan Levison and Shaleen Desai.
— Burns &amp; Cooley: Medical procedural about two New York neurosurgeons who compete as they strive to be the top in all aspects of their lives; written by Meredith Philpott (Awkward), exec produced by Matt Gross (Body Of Proof).
— Founding Fathers: Drama about a war veteran whose Texas hometown is in the hands of a militia group led by his older brother; written by Rich D'Ovidio (Thir13en Ghosts), produced by Lorenzo Di Bonaventura and Dan McDermott.
— Untitled McG Project: Retelling of Romeo and Juliet, revolving around two rival families fighting for control over Venice, California; written by Byron Balasco (Detroit 1-8-7), produced by McG (The OC, Supernatural, Nikita).
— Untitled Kurtzman/Orci Project: Drama about a mysterious game; written by Noah Hawley (The Unusuals), produced by Heather Kadin, Alex Kurtzman and Bob Orci.
NBC
— Dracula: 1890s-set period piece about the iconic vampire; written by Cole Haddon, produced by Tony Krantz and Colin Callender; starring Jonathan Rhys Meyers (The Tudors).
— The Blacklist: Drama about an international criminal who surrenders himself and helps the government hunt down his former cohorts; written by Jon Bokenkamp, exec produced by John Davis, John Fox and John Eisendrath.
— Hench: Based on the comic about a man who becomes a temp for super villains; written by Alexandra Cunningham (Desperate Housewives), exec produced by Peter Berg and Sarah Aubrey (Prime Suspect).
— Cleopatra: Period drama about the Egyptian queen Cleopatra; written by Michael Seitzman (Americana), exec produced by Lorenzo Di Bonaventura and Dan McDermott.
— Pariah: Drama inspired by Freakonomics about a rogue academic who uses economic theory to police San Diego; written by Kevin Fox (The Negotiator), exec produced by Kelsey Grammer, Stella Stolper and Brian Sher.
— After Hours/The Last Stand: Medical drama about Army doctors who work the night shift at a San Antonio hospital; revisited from last season; written by Gabe Sachs and Jeff Judah.
— Untitled Parkes/MacDonald Project: Drama about an interpreter at the United Nations who works with diplomats and politicians from around the world; written by Tom Brady (Hell on Wheels), produced by Walter Parkes, Laurie MacDonald and Ted Gold.
— Untitled Charmelo/Snyder Project: New Orleans-set drama, described as a "sexy Southern Gothic thriller"; created by Eric Charmelo and Nicole Snyder (Ringer), exec produced by Peter Traugott and Rachel Kaplan.
— Untitled Rand Ravich Project: Drama-thriller following a secret service agent at the center of an international crisis in Washington, DC; created by Rand Ravich (Life), produced by Far Shariat.
CBS
— Island Practice: Based on the book Island Practice: Cobblestone Rash, Underground Tom, and Other Adventures Of A Nantucket Doctor, about an eccentric doctor with a controversial medical practice on an island off the coast of Washington; written by Amy Holden Jones (Mystic Pizza, Beethoven), produced by Brian Grazer, Francie Calfo and Oly Obst.
— The Brady Bunch: Reboot of the series, about a divorced Bobby Brady who re-marries a woman with children of her own; written by Mike Mariano (Raising Hope), co-developed and exec produced by Vince Vaughn (Sullivan &amp; Son).
— A Welcome Grave: Based on the book series about a private investigator who comes under suspicion when a rival turns up dead.
— Backstrom: Based on the book series about a House-like detective who tries to change his self-destructive nature; written by Hart Hanson (Bones), produced by Leif G.W. Persson (novel) and Niclas Salomonsson.
— Ex-Men: Single-camera comedy about a young guy who moves into a short-term rental complex and befriends the other men who live there after being kicked out by their wives; written and directed by Rob Greenberg; starring Chris Smith and Kal Penn.
The CW
— Sleepy Hollow: Contemporary reinterpretation of the Sleepy Hollow short story; written by Patrick Macmanus and Grant Scharbo, produced by Scharbo and Gina Matthews.
FOX
— Gun Machine: Based on an upcoming novel (of the same name) about a New York detective whose chance discovery of a stash of guns leads back to a variety of unsolved murders; written by Dario Scardapane (Trauma), produced by Warren Ellis (book author), Scardapane, Peter Chernin and Katherine Pope.
— Sleepy Hollow: Modern-day thriller based on the Sleepy Hollow short story, following Ichabod Crane and a female sheriff who solve supernatural mysteries; written by Alex Kurtzman and Roberto Orci (Fringe, Hawaii Five-0) and Phillip Iscove, produced by Heather Kadin and Len Wiseman.
— The Beach: Based on the 1996 novel and 2000 movie about a group of youths who try to start society over on a remote paradise; written by Andrew Miller (The Secret Circle).
— Hard Up: Single-camera comedy based on Israeli series about four twentysomething guys who are strapped for cash; written by Etan Frankel (Shameless), produced by John Wells.
— Lowe Rollers: Animated comedy about a struggling Titanic-themed casino in Las Vegas; written by Mark Torgove and Paul Kaplan (Outsourced) and Ash Brannon, produced by Ryan Reynolds, Jonathon Komack Martin, Steven Pearl and Allan Loeb.
— Untitled Chris Levinson Project: Cop drama about a detective who puts his life under surveillance when he begins to lose his memory; written by Chris Levinson (Touch), produced by Peter Chernin and Katherine Pope.
— Untitled Friend/Lerner Project: Drama set on an aircraft carrier following young naval officers and a female fighter pilot who tries to solve an onboard murder; written and produced by Russel Friend and Garrett Lerner (House).
— Untitled Ryan Reynolds Project: Half-hour comedy about a disgraced hotelier forced to manage a rundown airport hotel; written by Matt Manfredi and Phil Hay (Clash of the Titans), produced by Ryan Reynolds, Allan Loeb, Jonathon Komack Martin and Steven Pearl.
— Untitled Jason Katims Project: Romantic comedy about a single female attorney; written by Jason Katims (Parenthood, Friday Night Lights) and Sarah Watson.
HBO
— Getting On: U.S. adaptation of a British comedy about a group of nurses and doctors working in a women's geriatric wing of a run-down hospital; Big Love creators Mark V. Olsen and Will Scheffer to exec produce with Jane Tranter, Julie Gardner and Geoff Atkinson.
— Buda Bridge: Belgian-set crime drama about a woman who is found dead on a famous bridge in Brussels; written and directed by Michael R. Roskam (Bullhead), produced by Michael Mann (Luck) and Mark Johnson (Breaking Bad).
— Hello Ladies: Comedy about an oddball Englishman who chases women in Los Angeles; written, directed by and starring Stephen Merchant (The Office), produced by Lee Eisenberg and Gene Stupnitsky (The Office).
SHOWTIME
— Angie's Body: Drama about a powerful woman at the head of a crime family; written by Rob Fresco (Heroes, Jericho), directed and executive produced by Jodie Foster, Fresco and Russ Krasnoff.
— Conquest: Period drama about Spanish conquistador Hernan Cortes, who clashes with the Aztec ruler Moctezuma II; written by Jose Rivera (The Motorcycle Diaries), produced by Ron Howard, Brian Grazer and Francie Calfo.
AMC
— Low Winter Sun: Based on 2006 British miniseries about the aftermath that follows the murder of a cop by a fellow detective; written by Chris Mundy; James Ransone, Ruben Santiago Hudson and Athena Karkanis to star.
— Those Who Kill: Based on Danish series about a detective and forensics scientist who track down serial killers; written by Glen Morgan, produced by Brian Grazer, Francie Calfo, Peter Bose and Jonas Allen, directed by Joe Carnahan.
— Untitled LaGravenese/Goldwyn Project: Legal thriller about an attorney who discovers new evidence that re-opens a sensational murder case; written by Richard LaGravenese, directed by Tony Goldwyn, exec produced by David Manson; Marin Ireland to star as female lead.
FX
— The Americans: Period drama about two KGB spies posing as Americans in Washington, DC; created by Joe Weisberg, exec produced by Weisberg, Graham Yost, Darryl Frank and Justin Falvey; directed by Gavin O'Connor; Keri Russell, Matthew Rhys and Noah Emmerich to star.
— The Bridge: Based on the Scandinavian series, about a murder investigation opened up after a dead body is discovered on a bridge connecting the United States and Mexico; written by Meredith Stiehm and Elwood Reid (Cold Case), produced by Carolyn Bernstein, Lars Blomgren and Jane Featherstone.
— Untitled Dr. Dre Project: One-hour drama about music and crime in Los Angeles; written by Sidney Quashie, exec produced by Dr. Dre.
Follow Marc on Twitter @MarcSnetiker
[Photo Credit: ABC, CBS, Fox, NBC, The CW]

Yes, it's only August, but we're already thinking about Oscar hosts. (Damn, I wish I put so much planning into my Halloween costume and Christmas shopping.) We're getting so close to February's show that people are already turning down the job. Today on Today Jimmy Fallon said that he had been asked by the Academy of Motion Picture Fuddies and Duddies to host the awards, but he said no. Damn, that would have been a pretty good show.
What are we going to do instead? We've seen all sorts of people do it over the past few years from boring safe choices like Hugh Jackman and Billy Crystal to failed crazy ideas like the duo of Anne Hathaway and James Franco. So, who are they going to get? So many of our late night hosts have tried and failed (stick to politics, Jon Stewart) and Neil Patrick Harris is so eager to host anything you can probably see him next Thursday hosting your church talent show.
There have to be some crazy choices that actually make sense and could be a lot of fun. Here are 10 that I came up with. You can thank me with the honorary Oscar you were going to give to Woody Allen.
Justin Timberlake: OK, this is the actual only quote unquote good idea that I actually had. But seriously, he can sing and dance and stars in movies and is funny and charming and attractive and everything we'd really want in a host. Sadly he comes with the evil creature named Jessica Biel attached to him, but everyone has their faults.
A Hologram of Bob Hope: Every year some codgers are all, "Bring back Whoopi! Bring back Billy! Bring back some old person who we don't remember!" Well, those people won't be happy until the dearly departed Bob Hope can come back from the grave to host the Oscars. Let's finally give them what they want. If they can do it for Tupac for some silly concert, they can certainly do it for the Academy Awards.
Arsenio Hall: The '90s are coming back in a major way and he is getting another talk show. Why not let him crack wise on Hollywood's biggest night. This is a thing that should make you go, "Hmmmm," but will probably just make you go, "No, no, no. That is an awful idea."
Sacha Baron Cohen: Seriously he would do something awful, everyone would watch, and we would never stop talking about it. He would be the host equivalent of that swan dress. That sounds like success to me.
Harvey Weinstein: There has been no more consistent presence at the Oscars over the past two decades than this mogul. Why not let him be in charge? That way we can all watch him rage and scream at all the winners when they beat one of his movies.
Sally Field: You like her. You really like her.
Ron Burgundy: Why do we need a non-fictional person to host the Oscars? Will Ferrell might be a little too odd and hammy on his own, but what if he just channeled his beloved newscaster for the entire evening? Let's get a little preview of Anchorman 2.
Maggie Smith: She wouldn't so much as host as just stand there and glare and say, "Well..." a lot while folding her hands. Occasionally there would be a withering quip and we would all applaud and then die of happiness. There is a reason she has like 19 Oscars.
Kristen Wiig: This would mostly be a good choice just to shut up all those people who think that women can't be funny. Also because you know she'd bring along her hilarious BFFs like Amy Poehler, Tina Fey, and Melissa McCarthy to make the night even better. The promo can be, "We're flipping our Wiig for the Oscars." See, this just writes itself.
The Cast of Friends: OK, this is my other quote unquote good idea. Sure the only one to really transition to movies is (ugh) Jennifer Aniston and they are more TV people, but who wouldn't watch this? They can all be funny, we all know who they are, and this way we can have a little reunion without them having to make more episodes. Remember what I said about the '90s coming back. Make it happen, Oscar!
Follow Brian Moylan on Twitter @BrianJMoylan
More:
Could 'Dark Knight Rises' Win Best Picture Oscar?
Oscars 2012: 'The Artist' and 'Hugo' Win Big, Plus Surprising Victories
Oscars 2012: What's Next for the Oscar Winners?

The trailers for Hope Springs might lead you to believe it's a romantic comedy about a couple trying to jumpstart their sexless marriage but it causes more empathetic cringing than chuckles. Audiences will be drawn to Hope Springs by its stars Meryl Streep Tommy Lee Jones and Steve Carell and Streep's track record of pleasing summer movies like Julie &amp; Julia and Mamma Mia! that offer a respite from the blockbusters flooding theaters. Despite what its marketing might have you believe Hope Springs isn't a rom-com. The film is a disarming mixture of deeply intimate confessions by a married couple in the sanctuary of a therapist's office awkwardly honest attempts by that couple to physically reconnect and incredibly sappy scenes underscored by intrusive music. Boldly addressing female desire especially in older women it's hard not to give the movie extra credit for what writer Vanessa Taylor's script is trying to convey and its rarity in mainstream film. The ebb and flow of intimacy and desire in a long-term relationship is what drives Hope Springs and while there are plenty contrived moments and unresolved issues it is frankly surprising and surprisingly frank. It's a summer release from a major studio with high caliber stars aimed squarely at the generally underserved 50+ audience addressing the even more taboo topic of that audience's sex life.
Streep plays Kay a suburban wife who's deeply unsatisfied emotionally and sexually by her marriage to Arnold. Arnold who is played by Tommy Lee Jones as his craggiest sleeps in a separate bedroom now that their kids have left the nest; he's like a stone cold robot emotionally and physically and Kay tiptoes around trying to make him happy even as he ignores her every gesture. One of the most striking scenes in the movie is at the very beginning when Kay primps and fusses over her modest sleepwear in the hopes of seducing her husband. Streep makes it obvious that this isn't an easy thing for Kay; it takes all her guts to try and wordlessly suggest sex to her husband and when she's shot down it hurts to watch. This isn't a one time disconnect between their libidos; this is an ongoing problem that leaves Kay feeling insecure and undesirable.
After a foray into the self-help section of her bookstore Kay finds a therapist who holds week-long intensive couples' therapy sessions in Good Hope Springs ME and in a seemingly unprecedented moment of decisiveness she books a trip for the couple. Arnold of course is having none of it but he eventually comes along for the ride. That doesn't mean he's up for answering any of Dr. Feld's questions though. To be fair Dr. Feld (Carell) is asking the couple deeply intimate questions so if Arnold is comfortable foisting his amorous wife off with the excuse he had pork for lunch it's not so far-fetched to believe he'd be angry when Feld asks him about his fantasy life or masturbation habits.
Although Arnold gets a pass on some of his issues Kay is forthright about why and how she's dissatisfied. When Dr. Feld asks her if she masturbates she says she doesn't because it makes her too sad. Kay offers similar revelations; she's willing to bare it all to revive her marriage while Arnold thinks the fact that they're married at all means they must be happy. Carell's Dr. Feld is soothing and kind (even a bit bland) but it's always a pleasure to see him play it straight.
It's subversive for a mega-watt star to play a character that talks about how sexually unsatisfied she is and how unsexy she feels with the man she loves most in the world. The added taboo of Kay and Arnold's age adds that much more to the conversation. Kay and Arnold's attempts at intimacy are emotionally raw and hard to watch. Even when things get funny they're mostly awkward funny not ha-ha funny.
The rest of the movie is a little uneven wrapped up tightly and happily by the end. Their time spent soul-searching alone is a little cheesy especially when Kay ends up in a local bar where she gets a little dizzy on white wine while dishing about her problems to the bartender (Elisabeth Shue). Somewhere along the line what probably started out as a character study ended up as a wobbly drama that pushes some boundaries but eventually lets everyone off the emotional hook in favor of a smoothed-over happy ending. Still its disarming moments and performances almost balance it out. Although its target audience might be dismayed to find it's not as light-hearted as it would seem Hope Springs offers up the opportunity for discussion about sexuality and aging at a time when books and films like 50 Shades of Grey and Magic Mike are perking up similar conversations. In the end that's a good thing.

Log onto the Internet, and you'll be privy to an #NBCFail debate surrounding whether or not the network should be streaming the Olympics live over the Internet, or show the events primetime hours later. I am not at all interested in that debate. I just want to watch the damn Olympics and I don't want to know what happens before I get to watch it on TV. Since NBC is only offering the Olympics one way, then I am beholden to their genius.
The critical response to this year's Olympics is, however, interesting. After all, we're not used to having to worry about spoilers when it comes to sports. If you don't watch Game 7 (do they have seven games?) of the World Series, you still know that the winner will be announced in the news and on Facebook and Twitter and you have to stay away. And if you hope to avoid finding out who won last night's mid-season Yankees game, you can safely avoid spoilers by neglecting to log onto sports sites. But the Olympics are so huge, and so widely reported, especially in this day and age when social media and SEO reign supreme. The news of Michael Phelps losing, for instance, is going to be covered by every media outlet with a blog or a bit of ink, even if we don't get to watch it ourselves until we're curled up on the couch with a pint of Ben &amp; Jerry's in the air-conditioned comfort of our little homes. That means we need to keep away from all press while waiting for NBC.
But we can't. It's nearly impossible to ignore the news when logging onto the Internet, or fielding text alerts via your phone. (You just wanted to call your mother to say hello, for God's sake! Why must USA Today and The New York Times ruin things for you?!) And once you know how a sporting event ends, it's difficult to want to watch it later. It's not like learning that Jack is really an alien at the end of Lost (he isn't) — such a plot twist wouldn't necessarily keep you from watching the show (because, how did he become an alien?!) — but knowing that Phelps picked up Gold will make his race as exciting as a group of 4-year-olds playing Marco Polo at a public pool. It's just difficult to care anymore.
So, how can we continue caring? How can we get through the day and preserve the sanctity of the games? Follow these easy steps:
Sign Off of Everything: Yes, that means Facebook, Twitter, Pintrest, Reddit, Stumbleupon, Tumblr, MySpace, Friendster, and even your old Prodigy account. Somewhere out there, someone is going to make some sort of comment about who wins or loses, and then you're going to have to track that friend down and punch him or her right in the gut. The best thing to do is just give it up entirely. Yes, that means your Farmville is probably going to wither and the cows will all die, but so be it. The Olympics only happens every four years!
Twitter Away: Twitter is by far the worst offender, because most people not only follow their friends, but also news outlets like ESPN or the New York Times, which are going to be sending out little 140 character headlines of death. If you can't stay away from Twitter, just unfollow all of them. Unfollow everyone who even uses the word Olympics. Your feed should be all stories of people's cats, discussions about the weather, and annoying Instagram pictures of what your friends just ate (mmm, chicken parm sandwich). Everyone else can go suck it until the middle of August.
Don't Read the News: Sorry, world, but nothing can happen right now. No regimes can topple, no presidential candidates can stumble, no natural disasters can occur. Well, these things can happen (and Mitt sure has had his fair share of stumbles), but I'm not going to read about them because I am not looking at the homepages of any newspaper, magazine, TV station, or even any blog about anything. All anyone is talking about is the Olympics, and no matter the topic of the blog, the results of some event might be hidden even in the headline. Don't even send me links, because that might even give something away in the URL.
Be Preemptive: I have a friend who is immediately responding to all emails, texts, Gchats, and other IMs with the message, "DO NOT TELL ME ANYTHING ABOUT THE OLYMPICS!" Yes, this is what you have to do. Tell everyone that you do not want even a mention of what might be happening. No one should even talk about last night's Olympics. What if you DVR-ed it but still haven't watched? Just no Olympic talk at all, unless you're simply hoping to send along pictures of sexy athletes.
Complete Isolation: Seriously, who knows if your husband read something about Missy Franklin or if one of your stupid kids is going to spill the beans about ladies' gymnastics? You don't know if someone on the subway is going to start talking about what he saw on the live feeds. You don't know!
Permanent Vacation: The only solution is to take the next two weeks off. Just don't go into work, put some blankets over the windows and lock yourself into a cave of athletic events, inspiration stories, and NBC news anchors. The only thing you have to live for is the Olympics, and you want them nice and pure. However, as soon as you start thinking that Bob Costas' hair is actually speaking to you, then it's time to go outside and get some fresh air. Just don't look in the newspaper box, whatever you do.
Follow Brian Moylan on Twitter @BrianJMoylan
[Photo credit: Getty Images]
More:
Olympics Spoiler Alert: The Thrill is Gone?
5 Olympics Burning Questions, Starting With: ‘What Happened to Michael Phelps?’
A History of Ugly Outfits from the Olympics Opening Ceremonies

Title

Hosted "Bob Hope Presents the Chrysler Theatre"; appearing often in the anthological offerings

Immigrated to USA aged four

Made first trip with USO, visting army bases in England, North Africa and Sicily

String of annual NBC Christmas shows broken

Hosted "Star Spangled Revue"

Raised in Cleveland, Ohio

Film acting debut in "The Big Broadcast of 1938"; sang (with Shirley Ross) what was to become his signature song, "Thanks for the Memory"; became host of NBC Radio's "The Pepsodent Show"--Hope's NBC radio show would last until the 1950s in one form or ano

First "Road" film teaming him with Bing Crosby and Dorothy Lamour, "Road to Singapore"

Broadway acting debut in "Roberta"

Began entertaining US troops at March Field in Riverside, California, in May

Won contest as Chaplin imitator (date approximate)

Summary

Over the course of a career that spanned more than 60 years, actor-comedian- humanitarian-noted golf enthusiast, Bob Hope came to be regarded as not only a legendary entertainer, but a veritable American institution. Getting his start on the vaudeville circuit of the late-1920s, he eventually broke through on the Broadway stage in such productions as 1933's "Roberta" and 1936's "Red, Hot and Blue." He began hosting his own long-running radio program on NBC the following year and by 1938 had made the jump to Hollywood. Although he would eventually appear in more than 50 feature films, the funnyman with the ski-slope nose would be most remembered for his wise-cracking antics alongside his perfect foil Bing Crosby and their sarong-clad lust object Dorothy Lamour in "Road to Singapore" (1940) and the successful franchise it spawned. In addition to the seven highly popular "Road to " movies, Hope also proved to be a top box office draw as a solo act in comedies like "The Princess and the Pirate" (1944) and "The Paleface" (1948). Beginning in the early-1940s and continuing well into the 1990s, Hope - ever-present golf club in hand - was a welcome comic relief for troops stationed abroad in times of war and peace as he tirelessly toured with the USO during World War II, the Korean and Vietnam wars and beyond. By the time the venerable entertainer reached his 100th year, generations of fans could only express their gratitude with a refrain from Hope's most popular tune, "Thanks for the Memories."

Education

Received special silver plaque from the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences in 1940, presented "in recognition of his unselfish services to the motion picture industry".

In 1944, Hope was presented with a Lifetime Membership in the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences "for his many services to the Academy".

Hope received a gold medal from the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences in 1966 "for unique and distinguished service to our industry and the Academy".

"He works to anybody. He works to his janitor, to the band, to five people in the audience. You call him up and he'll tell you three jokes before you say hello. You've never met a man who likes a joke better than Bob Hope." -- Mort Lachman, Hope writer and producer, in Daily Variety, December 18, 1992.

He was inducted into the Television Academy Hall of Fame in 1987

Hope was the subject of a 1979 tribute from the Film Society of Lincoln Center

In 1995, he was presented with the National Medal of Arts by President Bill Clinton

In 1995, for the first time in 45 years, Hope did not headline a Christmas special on NBC.

Hope is the most famous resident of the Toluca Lake section of Los Angeles (adjacent to Burbank). This was confirmed in the 1980s when a long-lost friend of NBC publicist Kit Haralson, who lived not far from Hope's estate, received a letter from a long-lost high school chum merely addressed to her "near Bob Hope's house in Toluca Lake."

One enters NBC's Burbank Studios off a Burbank street named in honor of Hope.

Hope was honored by the Academy of Television Arts and Sciences (ATAS) for his fifty years on television on May 30, 1996.